"It is a profound personal reminder that every single breath is a decision to persist, to strive, to seek, to find, and at the same time a stagnant sort of fear that yields to the organism’s drive for immortality. It is a reminder of the universal unconscious, which cries uncomprehendingly for you to stop while the adrenaline reminds you of why you’d want to continue anything, ever, at all. It is living, in a tender confrontation with the alternative, and it makes you worthy of knowing, just for a second, that you have this same control over that decision every waking minute of your life" (something else).
aside from the fundamental question of good and bad, with a resignation to the distinction for the sake of argument (or, more, contemplation), what is it about submissive persistance that is so preferable? is it not perhaps the ultimate sign of surrender, to persist simply because it is asserted to be "good" to do so? what is the point of comparison? to be, or not to be? and in being, to actually be, or not to be? to accept breathing and eating, reproducing and defecating, working and playing, just for the sake of their asserted goodness? is this not a plebian surrender? is there any sentience at all involved in instinct? (I suspect that there is, but more importantly hadn't thought much about it before the "something else" rolled along.) why is it that we find numb, cheerful acceptance of persistence so appealing? is it to appease our heavily scare-quoted modern sensibilities that we solemnly assure one another that living is the thing? that our very existence is the evidence? what is the essential beauty of life? is it enough to let it become a cliche? should we not be at least occasionally striving to play devil's advocate, to see if perhaps there is something to the well-worn adages?
there probably is. it's probably impermanent, fluctuating, as subjective and constructed as anything else (and thereby no more or less true, except by the standards of the questioner). but just because cacophony was resolved with harmonoius melodies of lulling peace, it doesn't necessarily follow that the dissonance should die, should be permanently erased. why not wonder, once in awhile? why not challenge your instincts? make them stand up for what they have forgotten that they believe in. let them exercise their talents for debate once in awhile, so that when you really need them to be strong for you, the muscles haven't forgotten. instinct needn't be static; let it grow, evolve; shake it from empty resolution once in awhile so that there is something to sustain it. let it rest sometimes, yes; the demands of societal sanity require that you do so, in the self-soothing peaceful meditation that is routine and truths.
yeah, life is beautiful, and good. it is rife with potential and pleasant surprises. there are endless miracles sifting through our willing fingers, forever whispering of potential and breathless joy. there is the sound of children's laughter, the irregular freckles on your iris, the half-moon of a finally unchewed thumbnail. there are snapdragons whose vibrance melts from one to the next and who are laughing, even as you cup the sides of their jaws. there is the taste of fresh gelato and wild strawberries, and the sound of defiant graffiti redefining beauty. sometimes, the sunset is so soulwrenchingly ecstatic that sunrise is only a short blink away, and the diffusion of heavy eyelids cheekily redefines desirable focus. and the stars, oh, the stars, that drift and wheel and wait, occasionally humming secrets to each other in the vast silence. owls, and tigers, and dragonflies. bowls, and soup spoons, and trashy summer novels. it's beautiful.
but remember the option. you may need it one day; if you've got some practice, it will only break you in ways that are exquisitely mysterious.
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